Xian and the Onion Sword
by Onion Sword
Summary: As the 14 year old son of Silph Co.'s president, Xian has exclusive access to a rare, newly developed starter. But will he overcome his loathing for pokemon to become the new league champ? OC, all feedback welcome.
1. Screw Pidgeys

So, how did my journey begin? I guess it all started when I got that damned sword…

I remember that day. I was playing video games in the middle of my big, spacious room of the Silph Co. building. From the 10th floor I could see over every building in Saffron, far enough to watch the rosy glow of dawn break around the distant peaks of Rock Tunnel. A cool, early morning breeze blew in from the open window, ruffling the yellow curtains.

The walls and shelves were cluttered with books and electronics, various pokemon dolls, a bed in one corner; gifts my dad had imposed upon me. He was always bribing me with lame pokemon stuff. But the vast, empty space in the middle was all mine.

I was playing this straightforward little farming game on the outdated gameboy I'd bought with my own money last summer. No stupid surprises, no annoying frills, and (most importantly) no pokemon. Just plant, water, harvest. The game was simple and perfect, and all was well.

Until, that is, I accidentally dug up some ancient sword of power which just so happened to be buried in my turnip patch. Flashing fireworks bombarded the screen as bugle fanfare blared triumphantly. But my character's jubilee was quickly interrupted by a small pack of wolves crawling through my fence, apparently hungry for turnips. I stared at the gameboy incredulously. Like, really? The wolves attacked.

Twice I tapped the B button. Twice the sword flickered across the screen, and 8 times the speakers thumped with the dropping of dead wolves. Blood and coins sprayed from the halved carcasses, showering my little guy with gore and glory. I spent 12 stunned seconds trying to digest the carnage in front of me. "What the f-"

That's when my dad slammed the door open, something only he could do. Due either to disgust or surprise I dropped the gameboy as I looked up. My dad, president of Silph Co.- the most important man in Saffron, maybe even all of Kanto. He never knocked. He just sauntered right in. I knew from the unbridled excitement on his face that I was in for trouble.

"Xian! Glad you're up. I have great news!" he trilled, but he didn't need to continue. Every year around my birthday Dad cooked up another inane scheme to force me into my own pokemon adventure, and it never worked. I looked out the window as he began his spiel.

A fat little pidgey wafted through the yellow curtains and landed on my windowsill. "Son, you'll be 14 soon. You've finally graduated trainer school, at the top of your class, let's not forget, but still you have not yet caught your first pokemon." As if I had forgotten. "Why, when I was your age…"

I was straightening out my counterarguments when a sudden, horrible realization dawned upon me. I was 14 years old. I had just graduated pokemon school. And my most solid defense against getting kicked out of town had just expired. For Arce's sake, I only went to that school so he'd shut up about my journey!

I shot the pidgey a dirty look. Obliviously it preened its dirty feathers, leaving downy little fluffballs to float around my room. Intruding on my sanctuary _and_ littering? Unbelievable. I looked back at Dad, who was feverishly prattling on. "…high time you started an adventure of your own!

"Now, son, I have noticed your… _aversion_ to pokemon, and I understand perfectly. I had my misgivings when I first started out, too. New things can be daunting, even scary at times..." Ugh... I will never capture you, I silently vowed to the roosting intruder. The bird studied me with cool, calculating eyes. Then it turned itself around and ruffled its tail feathers in my face. The nerve!

"…which is why I've decided to nudge you in the right direction with a modest investment in your future. I'm proud to announce that Silph Co. will be sponsoring your pokemon expedition by providing you with your very first pokemon! It's waiting for you in the conference room."

Wait, WHAT? "NO!" My stomach dropped. I swear I could hear the pidgey cackling at me from the windowsill. "No! No no no no no… No. I will not. Send that little demon back to whatever hole it crawled out of."

"The laboratory?" he laughed. "No, son, you don't understand. This was a very expensive project. We're launching a new line of starter pokemon to the general public and you're the poster child for our advertising campaign. The entire nation will be following your journey to the top!"

Dad kept talking, but the entire world went mute. I blacked out all the clutter and there I was on my island in the center, just a boy and his beanbag. He had finally cornered me. I finally had my first pokemon. In a way it was almost a relief, losing this way.

"…meeting in one hour. See you there. Oh, and clean up this room. It looks like a tornado hit," he added cryptically. He always said that to me, but I could never figure out why. My room was pristine. He slammed the door on his way out.

Immediately, but smoothly, disarmingly I sauntered over to the window. The pidgey cooed as it turned its head slightly, regarding me with one eye. "You think you're so cool, eavesdropping on me and spreading your lousy feathers around? You think you can perch on my turf and moon me in front of my dad? Well then," I said, and I slammed the window shut on its stupid tail feathers. "Perch on that."

The pidgey screeched as it tore itself loose and flew away, leaving two long feathers pinned beneath the window. I dropped myself in a huffy pile on the bean bag chair and kicked my gameboy across the room. My dad forcing a starter on me… Why was everyone so obsessed with pokemon?

I mean, think about it. The way grown men and women prance around, obsessing over whose pet is the most violent, trading phone numbers with children and gambling on battles; it's ridiculous! How empty must the lives of these people be if they would devote them entirely to raising monsters?

Sometimes it seems like nobody has a real job that isn't geared toward pokemon training, which makes no sense. Is our entire economy supported by battling? Could those stupid commercials during the pokemon league championships possibly earn enough for a battle-based economy? Or is our government privately funding the league so they can raise some kind of child military force? The numbers just don't add up.

That's how I was sitting, stewing in my chair like that, basically basting in my own juices, when suddenly my room exploded.

Well, imploded, to be accurate. The window panes shattered inward as two huge Whirlwinds burst through the opening. My world turned upside-down as I was caught up and tossed around in a swirling tornado of splinters, broken glass, and plush dolls. I must have hit my head on every surface in the room twice before the winds dissipated.

There I lay, flat on my back, dazed, with those two pesky tail feathers resting gently on my face. Surprisingly, the layout of my room hadn't changed much, with most of the debris shoved against the walls, leaving the middle clear. I snatched the feathers up and ran to the erstwhile window, now a crater in the wall.

"I'm keeping these as souvenirs, you fat little dick!" I yelled to the empty sky. "This isn't over!" A rational person might have been worried the neighbors would hear him yelling threats at the open sky, but all my neighbors lived like 8 floors below. It was just me and the birds up here.

So I tidied up and prepared for the meeting.


	2. How to get a Free Sword

On the table in the boardroom there was an array of Silph brand supplies I could take on my journey. I stuffed a rope, some pokemon repellent, and a few spray potions into a backpack, skipping over the small heap of pokeballs. I didn't plan on using any of those.

At the end of the table was a purple masterball, my new companion. I examined it while Dad explained how privileged I was, being the first to test out their newly developed starter pokemon, the product of years of research. Blah blah blah. I pressed the button, opening the purple ball.

What spilled out onto the table in a splash of red light I can only describe as a robotic origami duck. It was pink and blue and polyhedral, roughly the size of an old fax machine. It purred like a dial-up connection and radiated warmth. I immediately hated it.

Dad explained that the creature in front of me, Porygon, was designed to save the environment by teaching kids to recycle. I glazed in and out as he talked about Porygon's ability to convert berries into powerful balls of energy, then Recycle the berry to be used again. It could also change elements in battle according to the situation.

I knew I couldn't weasel out of this trip, but I decided to throw my dad a curve ball, just to choke him up a bit.

"I won't do it," I interrupted before he could say anymore. "I absolutely refuse." Dad looked up from his presentation, and I knew I had his full attention. "...unless," I added, cutting Dad off before he could object, "I get a sword."

"A sword?" my dad asked, raising an eyebrow. If there's one thing my dad respected about me, it was my ability to bargain.

"I want my own sword. If I'm going out into the world, I can't rely on this tree hugging toaster oven to defend me."

"Xian, a sword is a dangerous thing. I don't want you running off and impaling yourself. Besides, I would have to order it all the way from Johto, across the Indigo Plateau."

I noticed that he hadn't said no. "Well I insist. The more you protest, the longer you're delaying this project."

"I see… and then you'll cooperate with this project, to the best of your capability?"

I agreed. "Then you'll have your sword. It should be ready by tomorrow. In the meantime, why not try your pokemon against the gyms in town?"

It was a small victory, but satisfying nonetheless. Dad gave me a berry that Porygon could convert into ghost energy, saying it should come in handy. I pulled the Lorax wannabe back into its ball and headed down the stairs.

Outside, the sun was high and the reflection off the cobblestone sidewalk burned my eyes. Temporarily blinded, I bumped right into a passing girl, who fell back and scraped her hands on the ground.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry," I said, reaching out to help her to her feet. She ignored my hand, studying me silently. Her gaze moved up and down my body, like she was undressing me with her eyes, then mentally trying on my clothes. It started to get uncomfortable, so I withdrew the hand and crossed my arms to cover myself.

Without a word she stood up, dusted herself off, and ran away as fast as she could. I watched as she sprinted down the street and disappeared around a corner. "What a freak," I muttered, walking toward Sabrina's gym.

Sabrina. A legend around Saffron. Early on the league recognized her as a child prodigy, one of the most talented young trainers in the world, so she skipped her last year of trainer school and became Saffron's gym leader.

If that wasn't intimidating enough, she was also beautiful, intelligent, and sadistic. Just talking to her always had an unnerving, nauseating effect on me, and now I had to challenge her to a fight. I hesitated at the door to her gym, steeling my nerve before walking in.

The room was dark and cold, giving the impression that I was trapped in a void with no walls. The only source of light came from a tile on the ground, which, upon further inspection, turned out to be the bane of my existence- a warp panel.

Silph Co. had just developed warp panels in an effort to streamline business operations. There were already several installed in the building, unfortunately. No words can truly capture the disorienting terror of accidentally stepping backwards onto one of those tiles in the morning while getting breakfast and dropping your eggs all over somebody's lab equipment.

I clutched my gut as a wave of nausea rolled over me. Since walking in, I'd been picking up on unwelcoming vibes from every other mind in the building. It was like my mind was being bombarded by negative thoughts, and my stomach couldn't handle it.

With warp panels, you can feel your body getting obliterated, launched out of existence, and then reconstructed in a different location. Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the warp panel, disappeared, and immediately vomited into the next room.

"Aw dude, what?" someone said. I looked up to see a sleepy looking kid with a disgusted look on his face. "Scrape that crap out of here! Oh god, I can smell it."

I carefully nudged the puddle back onto the warp panel with my shoe. It sprayed up into the air and disappeared, out of sight and out of mind.

"I, ugh… I challenge you to a battle," I managed, struggling not to burp. He accepted and we squared off to fight.


	3. The Lazy Matador

"Abra, go!"

The psychic trainer sent out a sleeping Abra; a lazy looking, bipedal muskrat demon with amazing mental powers. This one had on a sombrero and seemed to be leaning against an invisible wall. I could imagine it chewing a milkweed, halfheartedly waiting for job offers in front of a Home Depot.

"What gives?" I asked him. "Your guy isn't even paying attention."

The psychic glowered at me. "Abra and I share a telepathic link. He sees and hears everything I do, and he's more than prepared for... this challenge. Can you say the same?"

"Whatever. Your voice makes me nauseous," I said, throwing my only pokeball. The battle began.

For all the money they spent on r&d, Porygon was pretty worthless looking. I thought it was dormant, like a toy without batteries, but it whirred to life when I ordered it to Tackle, levitating and launching toward its sleeping foe.

"Flash!" yelled the psychic kid. A blinding light filled the room, briefly revealing a lovely orange wallpaper and velvet hangings, but quickly searing the vision out of my retinas. I staggered, blind

"Sh*t, ow! You couldn't have warned me?" He couldn't warn me? Porygon wasn't prepared either, completely missing its target and veering into a wall. Abra was leaning against the opposite wall, seemingly oblivious. I decided to use the secret weapon Dad programmed for me.

"Porygon, use Natural Gift." The berry Porygon held began to glow with power, but suddenly the entire room went pitch black. With a clap Abra summoned a single cone of light focusing around Porygon. The small room filled with the din of a cheering audience, all chanting for an Encore.

The berry's shine faded as Porygon sped toward its enemy involuntarily. Voop! The Abra teleported to safety, lounging in the corner as Porygon crashed again. The crowd went wild. "It looks like Porygon is caught up in the limelight," the psychic teased. "I'm afraid he's a slave to the audience, now. He won't be responding to your commands anymore."

As if on cue, Porygon whirred back up and steadied itself for another go. I'll spare the details of the next couple turns because they were so disappointing. Abra kept teasing and poking at Porygon, Swaggering it into a confused rage. The crowd was going absolutely bonkers as Porygon smashed into walls, chairs, what sounded like a vase, but the unassuming Abra always managed to disappear at the last second.

By the time the audience faded away, I could tell it was over. Porygon was instable in the air, rocking back and forth uneasily, while Abra snoozed peacefully on a chandelier, completely unscathed. I decided it was time to throw in the towel.

"Okay,

"Nope, Mega Punch," responded the psychic. Before Porygon could charge up the berry-fueled blast, Abra violently snapped into existence nearby and brought down a mighty fist from above on the damaged robot, losing its sombrero in the process. The hat wafted several feet down into the center of the new crater that presumably held the remnants of my Porygon, hiding the shameful carnage from my sight.

Without pride I scooped up the broken scraps of my companion and rushed to the pokemon center, stepping in vomit on my way out.

"Juuust great..."

It's disgusting, what pokemon centers do. The injuries caused by battling, they really shouldn't be so easy to reverse. I've seen pokemon crushed, impaled, bitten in half or shredded to bits, but no matter how badly they've been damaged, that creepy joyful nurse just scoops them up and lasers them back together. She hands them back with that soulless smile of hers, good as new, prepped and ready for another battle! That's the allure of pokeball confinement, a pokemon's freedom in exchange for near immortality. It's sick, really.

I was weighing pitfalls against the advantages of a Valhallian immortality when something hit me. That thing turned out to be myself. Turning the corner of the pokemon center, I somehow collided into myself as I came running from the other direction. Dazed and suddenly seated, my vision focused in on my own mirror image rubbing its head across from me.

"Whoa," we said. We both reached out slowly and each placed a hand against the other's. We were both real! We stood and simultaneously asked each other, "Who are you?" causing both of us to jump in surprise. The other me actually said the words a split second sooner, making me wonder who the real copycat was.

I stopped to admire the apparition. It wore a backpack just like mine, the same running shoes, baggy, yellow shorts and a black shirt, it had my hair. It even sounded like me. But in its eyes I could tell that it was a creature completely different from the person I see in the mirror. I could also see dainty eyelashes and a pair of thick eyebrows.

"You're a girl," we both accused each other, then the other me squeaked and covered its mouth. "Ha!" I said. "You're that girl I ran into earlier. How do you do that thing with your mouth, that's crazy. Are you psychic?"

The girl glanced behind her and quickly assessed the situation. For the first time she spoke to me with her own words. "Listen, four blackbelts from the fighting dojo are chasing you down as we speak. Don't struggle, just go with them. You've just challenged their gym and beaten all the trainers, but you dishonored the sensei by fleeing from the final battle. You had to, uhh, take a leak. Bad. I'll check up on you later to see how it goes."

And with that, she disappeared into an alleyway, ripping off articles of clothing as she went.

I gaped at the duck-print boxers strewn over a dumpster that matched the pair I had on. How could she have known that? There was a clattering of trashcans behind me, and I turned just in time to witness 200 lbs of gui and muscle body slam me to the ground.

"What the hell! Can't a guy take a leak in peace? Arceus," I swore.

"Oh, you had to pee?" asked the puzzled martial artist, loosening his grip on me. "We thought you were forfeiting the sensei's challenge. He was so excited to have a worthy adversary."

I was almost totally lost at this point, but I decided to roll with it. "No, I would never forfeit. If you'll get off me, we can go back and finish this gym battle." He rose and helped me up, then lead me back to the dojo like a Miltank to slaughter.


	4. Ch 7

"Here, you can use my old rod," Mr. Fuji offered. I quietly accepted it and we walked to the nearby streams. Other than the shallow water rushing through the wooden legs of the dock, there was no noise in the air. The old man cast his rod far out into the reeds of the opposite bank, and I tried to do the same.

"Release mid-flick, like that," he coached. "There you go. A good cast is essential to pokemon fishing." For a while we were silent, and I began to hear the faint croaking and chirping of the water pokemon. A breeze brought the sound of distant birds whistling back and forth. I slumped back, letting the old rod roll out of my fingers. Mr. Fuji turned from the pipe he was absently puffing.

"Don't drop your rod. If a pokemon bites, you'll-" he started, but was interrupted by a violent thrashing from his own line. He lurched forward but caught himself, bent his legs, and braced his feet against the wooden planks. I started to try to help the guy, to grab him or something, but then I felt weird about touching an old man's hips, so I just let him struggle.

He pulled and released, pulled and released, until the end of the line was close enough that he finally yanked the little monster into the air and onto the dock. It was a small, blue poliwag; a slap-happy, bipedal spiraled ham with a penchant for hypnosis. I could see the swirl of its intestines through its white, translucent belly. "Watch what I do here, Xian. Weedle, go!"

The poisonous little caterpillar spilled out of its pokeball and arched its back menacingly. "String shot!" yelled Mr. Fuji. The poliwag was still struggling to gain its feet when the webbing wrapped itself around the flopping amphibian's face and tail, immobilizing it. The old man pulled the pokeball off the end of his rod and whisked it into the air with expert aim, nailing the incapacitated tadpole. The ball shook with internal conflict, as if frantically weighing its options from one hand to the other, making life decisions on the fly. Finally it chose the path of least resistance, lying still and docile, tamed.

"And that's how you catch a pokemon," he explained, fastening another lureball to his line. "Of course, it normally helps to weaken the pokemon first," he instructed, but I wasn't really listening. Catching pokemon is so boring. All I could think about was what those Team Rocket guys had done, what they'd said.

There was no way I could let them get away with it. I had revenge on the mind. I was mad. I didn't necessarily want my porygon back, but I still had to find those guys and take back what was mine. I wanted to show them where they stand. Nobody pushes me around like that. I looked at Mr. Fuji and nodded politely, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

I thought I heard sobbing, so I looked around and noticed a girl sitting on the edge of a nearby pier trying not to cry. Her head drooped forward, her face masked by her long, black hair. Little ripples fanned out where her tears struck, only to be whisked away by the current. Her shoulders heaved, but I could barely hear her over the murmur of the waters. I decided to walked over.

"Hey," I said. She recoiled as she looked up, startled, but quickly regained composure.

"Hi," she answered, looking away.

I leaned forward on the railing next to her. "Visiting the tower?" I asked. She nodded, wiping her eyes and nose. "Sorry," I said. "Um, my pokemon is… gone as well."

She looked up at me as if for the first time. "I-I'm so sorry. You must be going through a lot." I helped her stand up. "It was my-my…pikachu…" she finished. We were silent for a long time, comforting each other with our presences I guess.

Eventually she broke the silence. "Know what? I have a gift for you. It's something my pikachu used to like. Here, have it." She handed me a blank cd. "That TM teaches swift, which never misses. My pikachu used to make the most beautiful star displays and show them off to me… I-I really miss that little guy," she said.

I took the disk. I thought of my porygon, how he could probably make use of the thing. I clenched my fist and stuffed the TM into my backpack. Saying goodbye, I walked back toward Mr. Fuji, but the girl called after me.

"Wait! Will you-" she started. I turned back to her. "Will you promise to show me a good swift sometime?" I promised, and she smiled as I walked away.

"Mr. Fuji," I called out. "I need to deliver a letter to Vermillion. Can you show me the way?"

"Oh, uh, sure. Hold on," he said, reeling in. He packed up his tackle box and tied his rod. "Err, what you did for that girl… that was very good of you. Whatever happens in your journeys, don't lose that side of yourself," he cautioned, and I felt oddly exposed, like an open book. We moved on toward the end of the docks.

"Uh oh," said Mr. Fuji. I followed his gaze to the junction where the docks met the sidewalk. There was a giant, pulsating lump of flesh blocking the path. It was a panda colored mound rocking back and forth with a sleepy rhythm. "Snorlax," Fuji swore. "I'll take care of this."

He whipped out a small flute with a ball shaped bulb in the middle. Puffing his cheeks, he played a sharp, lilting melody while bobbing his head in tune with the snorlax's breathing. The tempo picked up as the pokemon responded, until Snorlax became so agitated that it couldn't sleep anymore. It reared onto its hind legs with a roar and barreled toward Mr. Fuji.

Weedle materialized without command, undaunted by the wall of lard and muscle careening toward its master. With astounding agility the weedle launched itself like a poisoned dart, making contact with the behemoth's gaping maw of a bellybutton. Snorlax stopped on a dime, immobilized by the impact. Its face darkened as poison coursed through its veins. Unwilling to bear the pain, Snorlax loosed a deep yawn and fell back asleep.

Weedle made quick work of wrapping Snorlax into a giant ball of string, and then crawled under the silky blob. I ducked down to get a better view, and this is what I swear I saw. Weedle balanced the half-ton pokemon on the tip of his barb and, with perhaps the world's mightiest poison sting, launched the monster so high into the air that I actually lost sight of it. For all I knew, that Snorlax achieved orbit.

"Very well done, Weedle. Return." Mr. Fuji brushed the wrinkles out of his suit and turned to me. "You see," he said, "Weedle spends his entire life honing and perfecting only two skills. It stands to reason that he should become very good at them over time." He nodded, I agreed, and the man pointed me on my way to Vermillion city.


End file.
